Thoughts and things Equally as Irrelevant
by Consuming Fakery
Summary: The thoughts of Mary McNair concerning the characters of Twilight. A deeper look on the other side of Forks High school, one where in the mind of Mary there was no such thing as supernatural. There was no romance in her story, just lies, hate, and apathy
1. Bella Swan I

**AN: **just a short series of drabbles on the thoughts of others from another's POV. This chapter's 364 words without the AN and Disclaimer.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight characters but Mary and Yvonne are my own.

_**Bella Swan.**_

**Part I**

I watched as she walked into the school, my eyebrows shot up. I was shocked what can I say. I expected blonde Malibu Barbie the way her Father's been going on about her, but no. She was pretty enough really, not fake like Jessica Stanley (Yes her hair is perm-ed, I know this for a fact because my Mother is the one who did it.) she wore no make-up except a very small bit of shimmering brown eye shadow; very, very small indeed.

My head tilted a bit to the side and I watched her walk in. Interesting, the way she walked, she was unsure, she was cautious not exactly graceful, but in no ways did she walk like a man. She had her own little charm about her I suppose.

"You want a drag Mary?" I glanced over at Yvonne, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the yellowing of her teeth, she tried to hide it with her black eye shadow and pale pale lips but I wasn't stupid, I saw everything. Well almost everything really.

"No," I said passing the roll of Coke over to the next guy, "You know I don't smoke."

She snorted, "Yet, eventually you will. We all do."

"Well I'm different." I muttered, I glanced over at Isabella swan, or at least who I assumed was Isabella Swan, I noted the way she glanced around and her eyebrows furrowed at two groups: Ours, and Jessica Stanley's. I can't really blame her, I wouldn't want to be part of either.

"Of course you are," she laughed spitefully and the others joined, "of course you are Mary. God your so full of shit sometimes" she snorted "I suppose next you'll be telling us we'll get into Princeton, or Harvard."

"And what if one of us do hmm?"

Her eyes narrowed behind her large black frames and she pulled her black and grey jacket closer "Get your head out of the Clouds McNair, none of use will amount to shit." She took a deep drag of the Cigarette that had made it's way back to her "and if you think differently…Well the mental hospital's just down the road."


	2. Edward Cullen I

**Disclaimer: **Characters you recognize are Meyer's characters you don't are mine. Simple concept really.

_**Edward Cullen.**_

**Part I**

I really had to respect Edward Cullen. The guys got guts that you have to admit if admitting anything at all. It's not that he's just some devastating hero or that he's really done something Heroic at all for that matter. It's Just—well, alright, this will sound sappy and…well way to empathetic for me to even be thinking it—but it's not like anyone else will hear it right?

You had to respect Edward Cullen because he sits at that little table in the corner every lunch block with his way too perfect family and he's the only one who's not seeing anyone. Everyone else is whispering things in their respected partner's ear and he always has this—this lonely bitter look that's on his features.

I don't pity him; pity is a silly word and a silly thing really stupid and ignorant people use. I suddenly feel as if I'm being probed, it's like this instinct; I turn to face the man (he looks oddly out of sorts for humanity) in question his almost black eyes were search my boring hazel ones. I distinctly get the feeling that he's probing my mind—but I don't really care, if anyone in this school knew my thoughts I'd rather it be the anti-social gorgeous boy who inwardly torments himself than the annoyingly beautiful blonde one (Rosalie) I have her in some of my classes. She likes to give me filthy looks when she catches me doing something to her disliking.

I don't really mind, there are some people that just judge on outward appearances, the way I look the people I hang out with. Their entitled to their own opinions I suppose, it doesn't bother me one way or the other.

"Don't tell me you like the bronze haired Cullen Boy" Theodore's (Or just Theo's) eyebrow is shooting up into his incredibly shaggy (and incredibly beautiful) inky black hair. He's looking at me as if truly curious, I know because he's chewing on his lip ring and his kohl lined eyes are widened with curiosity.

I choose my words carefully, Theo is known for his violent mood swings "One has to appreciate the finer aspects of…humanity I suppose," I say coolly. The table bursts into uproarious laughter.

"Your so full of shit Mary." Theo snorts.

"So I've been told" I force a grin before standing up and making my way across the Cafeteria to throw away the food I'm no longer hungry for.


	3. Mike Newton I

**Disclaimer:** No I do not own Stephanie's Characters, nor would I want to.

_**Mike Newton**_

**Part I**

"So… I was thinking—"

"Mike let me ask you a question" I pulled my keys out of my jeans with little difficulty and insert them into the side of my horrible car.

"Alright, Shoot."

"Have you ever looked at me?" My voice sounded tired to my own ears.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to decide if this was a trick question "Well you obviously very –er- beautiful, so, yea who hasn't looked at you?"

"I mean really looked at me. Tight pants, band tees, wild hair, dark nails, biting apathetic attitude?"

"Well –er- No…?"

"Then do it" His eyes traveled up my body and I messaged the space between my brows before opening my door. "Was there something you were going to ask me?" I inquired, bored with this conversation, and already half way into my seat.

"Er—Well I was thinking…that it's going to rain tomorrow…What do you think?"

I sighed, "Yes Mike I think it's going to rain" and with that I closed my door and started my half-dead car.

Life was just disappointing I suppose.


	4. Alice Cullen I

_**Alice Cullen**_

**Part I**

"Good Morning Mary McNair" came a cheery voice from above me. I lifted my face off my plastic-like table and my eyebrow rose mockingly.

"Good Morning? Cullen, might I ask what you're on, and where might I get some. It's horrible morning, look at that" I threw my arm out gesturing to the window that showed outside. Cold, Dreary, Wet, and Unpleasant were just a few of the adjectives that I could throw out to describe this dismal Friday.

"You very well know I'm not on anything" her chipper overly-zealous voice replied as she slid into her seat next to mine. "If I were you would know already."

"Mhhmm, and your point?"

"Your just too pessimistic for your own good Mary, open up! Let some one in, a new friend would do you some good." She tapped her short finger on my nose once as if to emphasize her point.

"You know, if you were bright you would have realized that after asking that question 45 times already you would know the answer." Sometimes I felt bad for the way I treated the most talkative of the Cullen's, But one has to draw the line somewhere.

"But what about Jason Harrison, he's nice enough. I can definitely see you too getting along nicely." I glanced at the blonde hair blue eyed beauty that sits at the desk next to us. He nodded his head my way in acknowledgment and wiggled my fingers at him.

"I don't think so Cullen," I said turning to her, sadly I continued "I'm not exactly some one anyone would want as a friend."

And that is the truth I find.


	5. Lauren Mallory I

**Word Count: **160

**Disclaimer: **Don't Own.

_**Lauren Mallory**_

**Part I**

It was like a whirlwind of emotions battered at me from the inside out. I was not one for this. I was not one for glancing at boys longingly (not that I _longed _for anyone.) nor was I one for staring at Lauren Mallory hanging off of Tyler Crowley's arm.

But there she was. Plain as day her sandy blonde hair was pulled up, her eyelids painted with some type of _pink_ concoction. She sickenedme. What with her push up bra's and incredibly short skirts and low tops. _WHOAR, WHOAR,_ it roared through my mind like a chant.

She couldn't take what was mine, she couldn't she--- then it was like an avalanche hit me atop the head.

He wasn't mine. Not anymore. Not ever again.

The chanting in my head died down to a quite whisper and then like a gust of wind it was blown away.

He wasn't mine, he never really was.


	6. Tyler Crowley I

Word Count: **460**

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Stephanie Meyer's Work.

_**Tyler Crowley,**_

**Part I**

Tyler Crowley.

What did I have to say about that long hair idiotic back stabbing weasel? Well I had Plenty to say in actuality about that particular boy.

_Plenty, _to say.

But none of it is nice. None of the things I think are things I care to remember, but I do anyways. _Of course _I do. I'm just as much of an idiot as him I suppose. The asshole broke my heart.

All of our hearts really.

"Look at him walk" sneered Mandy dropping her cig on the pavement and grounding it in with the tip of her red, red shoes. "That cocky little bastard, look at him with that ugly ass sneer on his ugly ass face as he sits with those popular idiots." Her pale eyes narrow and she sweeps her suicidal blonde hair off her shoulder. Jonathon's (or just Johnny's) arm looped around her waist and he tugged her closer to him.

I shivered; it was rather cold after all. I glanced at the two of them swiftly (He was whispering into her ear gently) before a wave of jealousy could consume me I turned away and shoved my hands into my pockets moodily. My glare returned to Tyler Crowley.

The insensitive bastard with his cocky smile and his smooth deep voice, his stupid beautiful hair, and his stupid alluring eyes, he was just that; _alluring._ It had been fine when he hung with us, when he talked with us, when he smoked with us, laughed with us, loved with us.

More importantly loved with _me. _

But now he was just another one of them, the insensitive bastards who looked at us like we were filth on the bottom of their shoes.

Never mind I risked my life for him, never mind I'd poured my heart out to him, shared with him, laughed with him loved with him.

Now he was just another person who hurt me, disappointed me, _And Left Me. _Well fuck those people. More importantly Fuck Tyler Crowley.

No one ever liked him anyways.

_Except for you,_ a little voice nagged. I stormed off.

Mandy didn't notice, Johnny didn't notice, they were too far wrapped up in the folds of each other to notice anything else.

And yet once again it was me against the world. The world, of course, referring to the beautiful happy people who woke up to see the sunrise as a stunning miracle a gift, the type of people who were nice, who smiled, who had a future and a home and spectacularly loyal friends, verses me: the hateful, cold, bitter, resentful, and most of all over-bearingly lonely girl who brought others down. Could anyone chance a guess at who would win this war of all wars?

Yeah, I guessed me too.


	7. Esme Cullen I

**AN: **This is 466 words. Carlisle shall obviously be next. I can't decide if I like the ending or not. Perhaps drop your opinion in a little thing called a review**?**

**Disclaimer: **_Polygraph Right Now _is by the **Spill Canvas **their brilliant works are not my own. Nor are Stephanie Meyer's now that I think about it.

_**Esme Cullen**_

**Part I**

I insert my key into my engine and listen to it gurgle to life. Frowning thoughtfully I make my way out of the parking lot. The line slows to a stop and I watch as students scramble to be the first out of this place. I don't mind waiting so much. I fiddle with my radio while I wait. When _Polygraph, Right Now _by **The Spill Canvas **came on I turned it up rather loud.

It is not my fault if I love loud obnoxious twisted love songs.

I tapped my fingers on my steering wheel lightly and turned out of the parking lot and made my way to Port Angelis. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending upon ones feelings toward me) I failed to notice a black Bentley swerve out in front of me.

So instead of slamming on my breaks like one is expected (_Obliged _really) to do I continued to tap my fingers to the beat of this song like an idiot and ram into the Bentley at sixty mph.

Now unfortunately (or fortunately depending upon ones feelings toward myself) my car is not at all like Bella Swan's monster truck and it does indeed crumple like paper.

My head flew forward smashing on my dashboard, the airbags that I was in need of replacing did not fly open, nor did they stop me from crushing my chest up against the steering wheel.

_Owe._

I saw the Bentley's door fly open and a beautiful (almost unhumanly so) brunette fly out of the car. Probably running away from the crime scene so she doesn't have to deal with my homicide, or maybe if I'm lucky (or not depending) she'll be coming to check on me.

It was the latter actually. My door flew open (how can she pull it open with the car has been crumpled like thrown away paper?) and the kind woman's dark gold eyes stared back at me. "Oh Dear, are you okay?"

…"_owe_" I groaned, it really did hurt, my head and chest that is, it hurt to breath, hell it hurt to _think._

"Your bleeding" their was a note of fear in her voice, more likely than not for my mangled body (am I mangled…?) but I wouldn't know I can't feel anything but the sharp gasps that part my lips and the pounding of my brain against my skull, but, as if oblivious to the damage, she pulled out her cell and dialed three numbers. She seemed rather nice, motherly in a way, though her beauty seemed to hide it well. I liked her. Or at least I liked her in my current rather stupefied state, who knows opinions can change.

Everything can change.

My fingers lifted to my head and they came back glistening red. Would you look at that, I'm bleeding. I'm hurt.

Well that certainly would explain the throbbing head ache.

_  
Fate is an elegant, cold-hearted whore; She loves salting my wounds; Yes, she enjoys nothing more; I bleed confidence from deep within my guts now; I'm the king of this pity party with my jewel encrusted crown _The ending lines of_ Polygraph right now_ came on when the ambulance pulled in.

The truth was oddly soothing, I think.

But then again, everything changes.


	8. Esme Cullen II

_**Esme Cullen**_

**Part II**

I was pried out of my crumpled car and lifted up into the ambulance in a rather painful fashion. I groaned, not for the pain, but for the fact that the motherly woman was climbing in the back with me. "Oh I'm so very sorry" she said kindly, but her voice was not so very clear and I was fading in and out of conscienceless.

Who knew catchy music could be so _deadly._ As soon as the word popped in my head I tried my best to push it out again. I was in no mood to contemplate death or what it would mean for me, for Fuck's sake I was only sixteen and fairly positive I was going to hell if they had one. I could already feel the heat come upon me.

"It's so _hot_" I gasped, it hurt when I breathed and talked and thought for that matter.

The woman pushed my hair off my forehead as the paramedics bustled about processing the damage, they poked the prodded all the while my vision was fading and hell was licking at my feet with its God awful _heat_.

Did anyone else feel hell burst through the bottom of this ambulance or was it just me?

Then the woman rested her cold head against my forehead and it was blessed relief. Sweet blessed relief. Perhaps she was an angel, but I doubted that. Angel's would not be the cause of death even if they were a short sweet relief before it. Either way, angel or not, the cool hand was welcome on my forehead, it felt so terribly nice. But then of course, things went terribly wrong like they always seemed to do. I heard two things, two things in very quick succession.

The first, a fast beeping noise that was severely annoying.

Second loud ringing voice saying the following:

"She's going into cardiac arrest! Prepare the machine"

Things went down hill from there and I really didn't want to stick around to see it happen. Then, as if the world was granting me one last request, my vision blurred and the world, the ambulance, the woman, all of it, went blessedly black and I was at rest.

Perhaps hell won't be too terribly bad after all.


	9. Carlisle Cullen I

**Word Count: **494

**Disclaimer: **Don't Own. Sorry Loves.

_**Carlisle Cullen**_

**Part I**

I fought to lift my eyes, it was a battle between me and gravity, when I opened my eyes I reveled in the feel of winning. Well at least that was before my brain registered that there was a horrible pain in my ribs and in my head. I found the World had led me into believing I won, but in reality it had beat me with over-whelming force.

Damn.

I assessed the damages, I was in a white room covered in white sheets and clothed in a white hospital gown. I hate the color white. The world must have sent a negotiator because in front of me was a blond doctor going over my charts.

So terribly _cliché_.

I opened my mouth to speak, a croaking sound came out "_Water" _the frog prince said. Dr. Who-ever-he-was turned around and smiled.

"It's quite time you woke up Ms…" he glanced down, but I could tell he already knew my name "McNair. You've been out since Friday." Noting my confusion (Was it not still Friday?) he let out a soft laugh, a very beautiful soft laugh at that. "It's Saturday evening Ms. McNair." He handed me a tall glass of water and I gulped it down greedily.

Sweet, sweet water, where would humanity be without you?

"Who are you?" I croaked, then winced at my charm, or lack thereof.

"Dr. Cullen" he glanced back down at the chart fleetingly "It says here" he tapped the board once with his finger (as if I didn't know what he was talking about) "That your suffering from Head trauma and three cracked ribs, you had a deadly fever on the way in that sent you into Cardiac arrest" he made a gentle humming sound.

It. Was. Annoying.

"There's nothing we can do about the cracked ribs except request that you take it easy, lifting things and such" he hummed thoughtfully _again_ "The fever has gone down sufficiently and your heart seems fine." There was a deafening pause in the air "Your head was sewed up while you were out…but, I think we can get away with releasing you on Tuesday maybe if we're lucky Monday."

"If it's at all possible…" I cleared my throat, "could I be home on Sunday, my Father gets back that night you see…" I trailed off averting my eyes. Dr. Cullen made a sympathetic noise.

They all did that, made sympathetic noises in the back of their throats but they didn't understand, they would never understand. All they would see was a girl with a hateful strict Father that went down the 'wrong' path. They would never see the real me.

Everyone single fucking one of them was so blind it wasn't fucking funny.

"We'll see" and he sauntered out of the room with his white lab coat billowing behind him. Almost like a scene in an old movie.

Jesus Christ, to hell with theatrics I just wanted a doctor. Was that too much to ask for, or was I demanding the supernatural?


	10. Charlie Swan I

**WORD COUNT:** 387

_**Charlie Swan**_

**Part I**

The chief of police walked into my hospital room.

Oh God what the hell is it now?

"Hello Mary" he greeted warmly, I scowled. My father was a major Lawyer and last year had Charlie arrest me so I could 'get the feeling of the Path I'm heading down.' Charlie was sympathetic, he was nice, and he was kind. But he was so ignorant, the whole time I sat in that little cold cell he would ask me questions and I would answer.

"Morning Charlie" I sighed I reached up to rub my temples, my hand met gauze and I lowered them. Splendid, simply fucking splendid, the world just wanted to rub salt in my wounds didn't they? Shove their win in my face.

I'll get her back someday.

"Don't look so doom and gloom Mary, I'm just here to ask you the standard questions.

I snorted…it hurt, "Because they _definitely _send the chief of police to question a car wrecker. What do you really want Charlie?"

"Observant as ever I see" he joked, then there as this long drawn out silence. "Someone on the hospital staff was worried about your home life."

I couldn't help it, I busted out in laughter, it hurt a hell of a lot, but it was still so damn funny. Worried. About. _My. _Home. Life. Oh God, that was too much. Mentally I was wiping a tear from my eye. Oh Jesus Christ, my father's the best God Damn lawyer in Wyoming, do they think it _matters_ what happens during my home life?

"There is nothing funny about the question Mary." Charlie scolded.

I shook my head, "Yes Charlie, there is, it's incredibly funny." I chuckled softly before continuing "Charlie even if my home life _weren't _fine it wouldn't matter."

"But I could help you change things."

"For the worse" I added. "Not all change is good Charlie. Not all change is welcome, and hardly _any _change goes without consequence."

He gave me that look (you know the pitying sympathetic 'awe you poor _dear_' look) and then sighed and shook his graying hair. "If you say so Mary, but know the Police help is just a phone call away."

Not fast enough. Nothing is ever fast enough.

"Of course Charlie, of course," it consoles him for now.


	11. Intermission I

**WORD COUNT:**378

_**Intermission**_

**I**

The nurse that has been changing my head bandages comes in around noon on Sunday. "You have a handsome young man here to visit you" she says this as if it is the most amazing thing in the world. I scowl.

"No 'handsome young man' would wish to see me" I corrected her, almost automatically. I have been in a horrible mood ever since the accident; my lungs hurt, my brain hurts, my head hurts, and I'm trying to figure out a way to get out of here by night fall.

It will be _impossible._

The nurse gives me a sympathetic look and asks me if I want more morphine. "Your just asking that because you think I'm a user"

She's flustered "tha-that's not true."

I sigh and turn my head to look out the window. Perhaps if I try and forget…? But how can one forget the ever-present pain! How do they do it, the Cancer patients, the dying? I have new respect for the sick and the injured.

I have almost forgotten about my so called visitor. Almost.

I openly blanch as Jason Harrison enters my room. He has nothing with him but a guitar strapped to his back. My mouth snaps shut and I watch him with curiosity. I don't know much about him besides the basics, He's quite, and he's the lead in the local band (Suicidal Ideation) and he's extremely gorgeous.

He sits, and I watch.

We do not talk. We do not need to; it's as if he's simply lending me a hand, lending me some strength. I know it sounds cheesy and corny but whatever. He understands that I don't want to listen to someone blabber on about what the latest gossip is or ask me a million questions. I just need some one to break apart the monotony and loneliness and he understands that.

We sit in silence and neither of us is the least bit bothered by it. Sometimes it is nice to sit and think and think and sit. One does not always need to be filling the silence with words or noise. Silence is quite for a reason.

I have much more respect for Jason Harrison, and in that silence I learn more about him than words could have ever expressed.


	12. Carlisle Cullen II

Word Count: **405**

_**Carlisle Cullen **_

**Part II**

I dialed Theo's number hastily, I had already tried Yvonne and Mandy but neither picked up. Theo was my last hope of getting out of this place. "Hello?" His voice filled my ears and I sighed with relief.

"Hey Theo" I sigh.

"Mary?" he questioned.

"Yea, it's me. Hey can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, what'cha need doll face?" I winced.

" I need you to come pick me up from the hospital."

"Why the hell are you in the hospital? Did you OD? Did your Dad hurt you? I kill that Mother Fucker if he so much as laid a hand on you."

"No, no calm down Theo. I'll explain when you get here kay?"

"What did you get yourself into this time Mary?" he chuckled "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Alright, and Theo?"

"Ya?" I could already here his engine starting up.

"Thanks." He grumbled something inaudibly before all I heard was dial tone, now to get out of this place. I slipped out of bed pulling out the things I was hooked up to as I went. I slipped out of my hospital gown and into my dirtied clothes before gently pushing open the door. I snuck down the hallways and out the front entrance. It was rather comical how easy it was.

"Mary, where do you think your going?" I turned slowly coming face to face with Dr. Cullen.

"I'm sorry Dr. Cullen, but I have to get home. I have to start dinner" I glanced down at my clock "It's already six o'clock. I have to get home."

He sighed exasperatedly. "I could call security you know? Get them to bring you back to your room."

"You could" I agreed, "But you won't." I watched as he drug his hand through his blonde hair.

"Your right I won't," a thin tight smile crossed his face, "but I suppose you already knew that."

I smiled, humorlessly, "People are predictable Dr. Cullen. You of all people should know this." I head a car squeal to a stop and noted that it was Theo's "Now if you excuse me," I nodded towards him and made my way across the parking lot.

Perhaps if I would've stayed things would've changed.

But it wasn't worth the risk, so instead of facing the unknown, I opened theo's car door and embraced the known. It was so much easier that way.


	13. Erick Yorkie I

**_Erick Yorkie_**

**Part I**

I listen to Mr. Varner go on and on and on and on and on and on (etc. etc.) about the Law of Cosines, or what I have come to understand, a basic extension off the Pythagorean Theory. I like algebra, plugging in numbers; it is easy, simple, monotonous, repetitive and a welcome break from thinking. But Trigonometry? No thank you.

I glance around the room listlessly, my eyes fall upon Erick Yorkie. An Asian nerd if there ever were one. I internally snort. He was lent over his notes scribbling as if his very life depended on it. His greasy hair was flopping into his (equally if not more so greasy) face. Yet he wore a stupid grin on his features.

As if he understood all this rubbish!

But there he was, grinning as if he were Pythagorean himself unraveling the deep mysteries of time and space, or well more realistically, how to draw a correct triangle. My eyes narrowed. What made him so _happy?_ Was this happiness attained by being a content know-it-all nerd who probably got erections from words like Multiply by the reciprocal of 7/1002, and divide by the square root of five. Did I have to be like him to be so…so…Happy?

Hah, as if I was that desperate. But it was interesting at least, this happiness, content-ness, it was spreading across his features lighting up his eyes, his greasy face.

It almost, _almost _made him look attractive.

Well that is if you were into math-nerds that looked like they would keel over if they ever heard a word such as conditioner. But perhaps that was the secret, he didn't (_apparently_) care how others saw him, he was studious, attentive.

He was seemingly perfect. (Minus the whole _looks_ thing.)

The bell rung, making me jump and my eyes darted back to the black board to analyze the homework I wouldn't be doing tonight. I gathered my things slowly, leisurely, almost as if mocking the next bell to declare me late. I sigh and hitch my bag on my shoulder.

Unhappy…? Me…? Why I never.


	14. Connor SomethingOrAnother

Word: **523 **

_**Connor Something**_

**Part I**

"Hey McNair" the voice rung down the hallways and I sighed and stopped. It hurt to do this, once I had the bag upon my shoulders I found it didn't hurt as much if I kept a steady pace, but obviously whoever called my name wishes me pain.

Connor Something-or-another skids to a halt in front of me, panting; his orange hair is unattractively sticking to his sweaty forehead and I find myself frowning in distaste, he holds a note out "For you" he says, putting it in my hand. My fingers fold over it automatically. Why would Connor give me a note? I thought he liked Jessica Stanley. My frown deepens and I tuck the note in question in my back pocket.

Why would Connor Something-or-another even talk to me? We were from completely different spectrums, opposites in a sense. Usually people like Connor would try and change me 'for the better'; he was a do-gooder. One of those nefarious people who's hobby was shoving sunshine down people's throat.

I am pulled by my thoughts; Mandy trots up to me smiling like she's just swallowed the sun, perhaps Connor got to her first…? "Johnny asked me to prom" she squeals clutching my arm tightly.

I give a small smile "Hello to you too."

"Oh, yea, I forgot about that, Hey how are you?" she gives a little wave and I open my mouth to reply, but she cuts me off "Now back to what I had to say; Johnny just asked me to the dance" she smiled so wide I was afraid she would permanently damage her face "and, Jesus, it was so romantic! A bouquet of roses fell out of my locker and attached was a note" she gave a squeal again. I frowned.

"Isn't it the girls ask the guys?"

"Yea, So…?" I frown.

"So," I elaborate "Weren't you supposed to ask him?"

"Why would I want to ask him…when he could ask me? Aren't guys supposed to ask the girls out anyways?"

I grimace "That's not the point Mandy"

"Then what _is_ the point _Mary_."

"The _point_ is that we were supposed to ask the guys to show that we can take matters into our own hands."

She frowns and looks at me like I'm some kind of crazy "Why would we want to take matters into our own hands?"

I sigh the complete oblivious-ness of some people astounds me. "Have you ever heard of the word sexism?"

"I've heard of the word Sex and hopefully me and Johnny…" she trails off winking at me.

I rolled my eyes, "I have to go to class, I'll see you later Mandy."

"Your really silly sometimes Mary. Sometimes I think Yvonne and Theo _are _right, you are full of shit" she laughs, as if that's _funny_ before sauntering off, obviously going to tell some one who cares about how romantic Johnny is.

My eyes narrow involuntarily, I absolutely _loathe _that phrase. I continue on my way to class hefting my bag up slowly and wincing at the pressure it put on my ribs.

God damn love songs.


	15. Jessica Stanely I

_**Jessica Stanley **_

**Part I**

I look at the note. It's odd receiving something you have no idea who it's from, it intrigued me, that I admit openly, anything could be behind the floppy folds of the blue and white lined paper. I was almost afraid to open it, to unfold the mysteries of what could be scribbled on the inside. Why I don't know, I suppose I don't want the swelling of my heart to stop.

Not that hearts could swell for that matter.

I unfold the paper my eyes scanning the messy scrawl in surprise.

_Meet me in the parking lot after school. –J.H._

My eyebrows furrow and I feel the note being picked out of my hand effortlessly. My head shoots up, hand reaches forward to grab what was already taken. Jessica was glaring back at me snootily. Her Brown hair was perfectly parted and her bow lips were perfectly (and naturally!) glossed. Her high voice filled the room "Meet me in the parking lot after school—J.H." I watched as her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raise drawing attention to her periwinkle blue eyes.

In a second flat I was on my feet my eyes narrowed. She looked amused…I looked pissed. "You might want to rethink your next move _Stanley_" her bitch possey ooh-ed. I spared none of them more than a fleeting glance. They all looked virtually the same anyways.

"Or what?" it was polite, but there was a threatening note in her voice that I chose to ignore.

"Or you'll find your pretty little prada shoes shoved so far up you—"

"Ladies, ladies do I sense a hostile environment here?" my European history teacher asks, briefcase tucked under his arm and bagel half-way to his mouth. He was tall, lean and practically gorgeous.

"No sir" they chorus politely and made there way to the front of the class room so they could have the best view of his ass.

And they say this generation is _shallow._

As if.


	16. Jasper Hale I

Word Count: **448**

_**Jasper Hale**_

**Part I**

The bell rang. I admit I was, if not curious, intrigued. J.H? My thoughts automatically jumped to Jasper Hale by far the quietest of the lot. But I severely doubted this conclusion first of all why would a gorgeous pale skinned boy (who is dating an equally beautiful and pale skinned girl) pass me a note through Conner Something-or-another.

He wouldn't.

That's what led me to racking my brain for anyone else with those syllables; J.H? J.H…. I crashed into the blonde pale skinned boy in question. "Perhaps watch where your walking next time Hale?" I asked a note of amusement in my voice. His eyes snapped, the black swirled around menacingly and I had an odd urge to run. I shoved it in the back of my mind. Run from what? Some snooty rich kid who doesn't have the balls to say he's sorry?

He looked as if he weren't breathing "I am truly sorry" it came out as a growl and I had a feeling he just used the last of his dwindling air supply.

"Mhmmm, and I'm truly annoyed, now if you'll excuse me" I shove past him, making extra sure that my skin brushed his. He flinched and I officially won this battle. I turned the corner slowly, not wanting to seem overly eager.

The truth was that it's been so long since I even had a guy look at me romantically that I was desperate for the small chance that it was romance related. I was starved of love, cheesy as it sounds, it was true.

The last person was, well, Tyler, and that was over six months ago. It was high time I moved on.

It wasn't as if I had a car so I sat on the bench like a loser, and popped my headphones in. It was interesting to watch the cars go by sluggishly, some drivers looking close to tears, others frustrated, and some (though there were few) smiling as if they died and were sent to heaven.

As if any of them would be sent to heaven.

I feel someone next to me and I pop a headphone out, letting it dangle between us as if daring him to take it, to make the connection.

I could practically feel the smirk forming on his pretty little face as he placed the headphone gently in his ear. We sat, we watched cars drive by sluggishly and nothing was said. Perhaps this was a good thing perhaps not.

But I was oddly comfortable sitting here on this soaking bench slowly getting drenched.

But then again, Jason Harrison always made me feel comfortable in the most awkward of moments.


	17. Erick Yorkie II

_**Eric Yorkie**_

**Part II**

"Well if you would do what you were told for once instead of being off fucking with your friends" his voice echoed, hit the walls and shattered into millions of pieces around me.

"And if you were ever _home_ I wouldn't have to be off 'fucking' with my friends" my Mother shouted back.

I simply sat in the parlor listening. It wasn't exactly strange to hear this, I was accustomed to it, accustomed to this madness this temporary breach of sanity. In less than an hour they would probably be doing it like rabbits on the dining room table. I've learned to live with their love hate relationship.

"Perhaps if you could control your _daughter_!" I cringed, they were breaching the subject of me.

"_My_ _daughter_!" it was an angry hormonal screech, "_My _daughter. She's no daughter of mine Casey." The last was no more than an angry snarl. It was quite and then if you listened hard enough you could hear a breathy moan.

Smashing, simply, and utterly, smashing.

The door bell rings "Don't bother yourselves, I'll fetch the door then" the moans do not stop as I reach the front door to find Eric Yorkie standing on my door step. His hair is less oily then it was the other day and it seems he is lacking his nerd like demeanor. He's dressed handsomely in a tight shirt and some lose fit jeans, I could see his chucks poking out from beneath the layers of fabric. "Err—hey?"

"Hello…?" I question back. He scratches his furrowing eyebrow and frowns when he hears my father's name part my Mother's lips. I do not cringe; once again, I am used to this insanity. I step out side and close the door behind me.

"I heard…screaming" he says. That's all he says and I resent him for it. Can he not say, perhaps, just three sentences? Two would be fine with me. But does he have to state the obvious? Does he think I do not know this?

"Yes and…?"

"Well I thought you might want to get away from it…?"

This is one of those defining moments, those annoying moments that haunt your dreams and waking hours. They make up your life, right or wrong, which would you choose? Ostarization or Friendliness, which will I pick.

I don't spare a seconds thought on my answer. "Erick, honey, go home." I open my door and close it lightly in his face.

Solitude is very much preferred.


End file.
